The Winter of Discontent
by ForeverShippingJohnlock
Summary: While reaping a soul, William makes an uncharacteristic mistake that causes him to reflect on his complicated relationship with winter as it relates to his past.


The Winter of Discontent

William T. Spears hated over-time. This was a well-known fact amongst reaper-kind. So, as he stood up to his ankles in freshly fallen snow in mid-December, he was understandably already in a rather cranky mood.

The night air was chilled and crisp, but without the snapping bite of frosty wind more reserved for January. The brightness of the near-full moon was able to slip through the thick cloud cover, its light shining through where the stars could not, giving the snow an ethereal translucent shimmer. It was beautiful in its serene stillness, but the glorious display was lost on Will. He stood outside the window of a quaint dimly lit cottage on the outskirts of a small village, watching as the sobbing young man inside the house sat at the kitchen table, finishing knotting a noose by candlelight. Will huffed a sigh impatiently, wishing the man – Harold James Weatherby according to his ledger – would just get it over with already.

To an outside observer, this might seem cruel. To Will, however, it was just business. He was simply the unlucky records keeper forced to dot the Is and cross the Ts of death. Such was his designated lot in life – or rather, afterlife as it were.

Will grunted in annoyance. He hated the winter, especially this close to the holidays. Humans all bustling about preparing for Christmas, the shops overrun with whiny children demanding toys, gaudy decorations strung up as far as the eye could see, Will looked upon it all with disdain. He couldn't understand the joy of a season where bitter cold and sickness ran rampant, it all seemed so repugnant.

Discomfort, annoyance, and impatience welling up inside the spectacled reaper, he shuffled his feet in an attempt at a better position. When an unseen branch cracked loudly, he winced. Looking up at the window, his iridescent green eyes met with red-rimmed brown ones on the inside of the house. Will stood there, cursing himself for his unprofessionalism; it wasn't like him to make such a rookie mistake. Harold strode to the door and threw it open as Will looked upon the scene helplessly, unable to dig himself out of the mess he had made.

"Who the hell are you?" Harold said, his voice wavering. Will assumed it was supposed to sound threatening, or perhaps authoritative, but ultimately achieved neither. The boy was young – no more than nineteen – and even the light curse tripped its way out of his tongue, as if he was unaccustomed to having to use it.

Will pondered his answer for a moment, wondering how to respond to such a complicated question. He could lie, or, perhaps more interestingly, tell the truth, but he instead settled on something else entirely. "I see you have gone for the Gallows knot. If I were in your position, I would opt for the Hangman's knot. Far more expedient, presuming efficiency is your goal."

Harold was flabbergasted to say the least. "W-what?" he stumbled and Will was unsure if the stammer was due to his shock or his chattering teeth, likely a mix of both.

"I believe what I said was quite clear, but I'll elaborate. The Gallows knot – the one you have there – kills by strangling, while the structure of the Hangman's knot allows for the neck to be easily snapped. So, unless you are of the masochistic persuasion, the Hangman's knot is the better choice for suicidal purposes. Trust me on that."

Harold's eyes widened in surprise and Will could see the shame in them. "I-I wasn't! I'd never-"

"Kill yourself?" Will interrupted coldly, "Please. Don't waste more of my time than you already have."

The fear and caution that had been displayed on Harold's face earlier vanished, replaced instead by anger and indignation. "Well, if you're such an expert, why don't you show me how to tie the bloody thing then?"

"If you want something done right…" Will sighed, not even bothering to finish the expression as he strode past Harold into the house where the sloppily tied noose lay on the table.

"It's really rather simple, Harold-"

"Harry," the boy said automatically, like he was quite used to having to make this correction.

"Hm?"

"I prefer Harry," he explained before the dawn of realization flooded his features, "Wait… How do you know my name?"

Will adjusted his slowly de-fogging glasses, "That doesn't matter. Let's just say that I have administrative interests in ensuring your demise."

Harry was gob smacked by this, and said nothing. Will turned his attentions to the noose, but as he began the tie, his mind flashed back to winter over a century ago…

* * *

" _William! Get in here!"_

 _Will stood at his father's office door, took a deep breath, and walked inside. "Yes, father?"_

 _"The numbers for this quarter are all off! I spend thousands of dollars on an education for you, and you can't even count?"_

 _"I'm… I'm sorry, father. I must have made a mistake."_

 _"Unacceptable! Successful companies don't run on mistakes. When are you going to learn?"_

 _"I'm trying my best, sir."_

 _Will hated how his father made him feel. Though nearing twenty-five, he felt like a helpless child in the older Spears' presence._

 _"Your best isn't good enough! Now, get out of my sight, you useless boy."_

 _"Yes, sir."_

 _Will turned on his heel and left as quickly as he'd come. He kept his head down as he walked along the cold and dreary hallways of the family glue factory. He tried to let the cacophony of machinery and men's voices from the work floor below to distract his tortured mind, his eyes burning with tears he refused to shed._

 _He hastened home to the Spears estate, conveniently located near the company within walking distance. Will didn't know why he even bothered; there was no comfort to be found in his home, not anymore. Not since the death of his mother nearly a decade prior. His mother had been the gentlest soul, made even more so when thrown into such stark contrast with his father's brashness. She'd always had the uncanny ability to calm him down after one of his many outbursts, but Will lacked that ability. He gazed up at the portrait of his mother that hung in the hallway. She was so beautiful – fair skin, an intelligent angular face, long raven hair that hung in soft ringlets; people had often told Will that he was the spitting image of her, and he just as often wondered if that was the reason his father hated him so._

 _He walked to the sitting room and slumped onto one of the divans. His father's cruel voice echoed in his head on repeat: useless-useless-useless. His father's voice had long since drowned out his mother's soft one in the recesses of Will's mind._

 _Will's gaze lifted to the tall windows of the room, showing the wintry display outside. He squinted a little as his eyes adjusted to the bright white of everything. He was angry; snow was supposed to be pure, it was supposed to erase the world of any stains upon it, wiping the earth clean as if it were a blank slate. But Will had never been given that chance of a new beginning. He was useless, unable to do anything right. His heart was as cold as ice, his soul as desolate as a sheet of snow. As his eyes followed the path of the falling flakes, Will made a decision._

 _He would not spend one more Christmas in this loveless and unforgiving life._

 _As soon as the thought came into his head, he felt a wave of relief, as if this was the solution to all of his problems. This was his second chance. He had learned all about Heaven in Sunday school, and knew that even if it did exist, its pearly Gates would be forever closed to him for such a mortal sin. And yet, he was comforted by the thought that even the void of nothingness had to be better than this. So, moving with a numb conviction as if on autopilot, Will left the house and headed towards the adjacent barn, where he knew there would be rope._

 _Once he had the barn doors open, he kept them slightly ajar, wanting to feel the sensation of the bitter cold one last time. After having located a rope, he tied a Gallows knot, figuring a knot with such a dark history would be fitting. He looked around the confines of the barn, and saw a strong beam above where he stood. Dragging over a bale of hay, Will slowly stepped onto it, securing the rope to the beam and, finally, to his neck._

 _The emotions churning inside of him as he stood on the precipice of his own demise felt simultaneously too much, and curiously nothing at all. It was as if he had passed the point of fear, and now just craved release. So, he leapt forward, ready to fall into Death's waiting embrace._

 _But, what he expected to be swift, was anything but. The rope tightened mercilessly around his fragile throat as his feet flailed automatically, his hands flying to the source of his constriction. Garbled grunts emitted from his throat as he tried and failed to gasp for air from a windpipe that would not permit it. He kicked and struggled, but this only made the rope pull harder. His vision began to grow dark at the edges and Will's instinctive human panic grew tenfold. Soon, after however long of the torturous struggle, Will's world went black._

 _So, he was understandably confused when the consuming black was replaced with a stark white business office, a tall man with long grey hair standing in front of him, an eerie knowing smile etched on his face._

* * *

"Look, if you're not going to help me, just leave me to my business, all right?"

Will was snapped back into the present at the sound of Harry's voice. He gazed at his own hands where they had paused in their ministrations of the knot. He was shocked; he hadn't given a passing thought to his death or his family in decades. What had changed?

He was angry with himself, the emotion itself foreign after being vacant for so long, along with any others. Will looked at the boy, the cause of this unwanted reflection, with disdain.

"And what, may I ask, is so terrible about your life?" he demanded. The boy looked surprised at the sudden change in Will's demeanor. He looked at the floor.

"Her name is Vanessa. She's… She's my everything! And she's gone, left me for some soldier in a flashy red coat!" Harry said, his meek voice gaining momentum with every word spoken. He raised his head to look at Will, his eyes brimming with tears he hastily wiped away with his sleeve.

Will couldn't help it. He laughed. Predictably, Harry was incensed.

"It's not funny! I'm… I feel…" Harry tried in vain to find the words, but Will quickly sobered up and found them for him.

"Let me guess, you feel like you're suffocating? Drowning in a water that you can't see?" he asked.

Harry widened his eyes, "That's it exactly."

Will regarded this young boy, so unlike his former self and yet exactly so. He was already past the point of breaking protocol, along with at least a half-dozen rules, so he figured he may as well continue the messy path he'd made for himself. Knowing that the time for damage-control was already over, he opted for a different route. He opened his ledger, skimming the file for Harold James Weatherby, searching for something, for anything.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Nothing of consequence to you," Will snapped.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but-" Harry began angrily before Will interrupted him.

"Ah. There we are. Takes over the family medical practice… saves a little girl's life… that girl eventually goes on to inspire _What Maisie Knew_. It's not much, Henry James would have written the book without her, but it's defendable in a trial," Will muttered, talking more to himself than to the boy across from him.

"What are you talking about? You're insane!" Harry cried.

Will looked up calmly, feeling far more in control than he had a moment ago, "Insanity is entirely relative, and so is your so-called misery. Vanessa is not the only woman in this world, nor is she the only woman for you to spend your life with. You will find someone else and be all the happier for it."

Will said all this in the cadence of a textbook recitation, entirely devoid of emotion. He didn't care about this boy – about his hopes, dreams, happiness – he was merely trying to save himself from having to spend any more time in this dismal hovel awaiting a decision this boy didn't even have to make.

"Y-you really think so?" Harry asked, wide-eyed and entirely too innocent for his own good.

"It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what you think about what I've said. I'll be taking my leave now," Will announced, standing from the table. As an afterthought, he picked up the abandoned noose and added, "I'll be keeping this as well. Removing the temptation, as it were."

Harry nodded stupidly, his brows knitted together in thought. Will slid easily past him, and it wasn't until he was almost at the door that he stopped and turned.

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yeah?"

As quick as lightning, Will's death scythe was extended and had pinned Harry by the throat against the wall. "Do keep this meeting as our little secret. You have a young man's vivid imagination, so I don't have to tell you what will happen if you don't."

Harry nodded as much as the grip of the scythe would allow, and just as quickly as it had extended, the scythe was tucked in neatly back at Will's side. He used the corner of it to adjust his glasses, and he ventured back out into the cold night air. Will breathed a tired sigh, watching his breath spiral upwards towards the sky.

This was going to be so much paperwork.


End file.
